Hounded
by FloodFeSTeR
Summary: Sparks, spurs, tics and tocs. Leaps, slides, curves and slopes. Here, there, neither and or. He peers over his shoulder, over the cartoonish glasses and a grin spreads across his face. The grin matches hers, and she laughs, eyes closing as she lets her head loll to the side, letting it all go.


_**12:57 p.m. – 2/4/14**_

_So I'm in a Stein mood. Hope you guys enjoy it. If I get enough responses I might make a story out of it, but for now it's staying as a one shot. Lyrics belong to EMINEM, I own nothing._

* * *

_**Lately I've been hard to reach…**_

* * *

Sparks, spurs, tics and tocs. Leaps, slides, curves and slopes. Here, there, neither and or.

Eyes dart, catching glimpses of one thing and then catching another. Gone but there, here nor there. Cerulean shrinks, black swallowing an iris, and she is giggling again, fingernails clamped tightly between sets of razor sharp teeth. Blood leaks from a cuticle, and she laps it up like a drop of water in the desert. Licking the finger clean she pauses, tip of her tongue dancing across the open tip of an index finger. Sees a light, darts towards, tries to catch but it's out of reach, against the ceiling. A growl and a snarl, swallowed eyes darting again, finding the source, and she launches herself at the crack in the door. She slams into it, hard, and a crackle goes through her body, blood welling across her right temple and maybe a broken finger. She dives for the blood again, sucking it clean from the finger, testing the pain and it's nothing.

It's numb.

* * *

_**I've been too long on my own…**_

* * *

Sparks, spurs, tics and tocs. Leaps, slides, curves and slopes. Here there, neither and or.

Back and alive, black nothing but the size of a pin and cerulean takes over. Knees curled tight she mutters to herself, rocking back into the corner before she twists and her hands are flat on either side of her, nails trying to dig through the concrete but coming away pained. Head whipping side to side she knows the eye is on her, crooked and shrunken, just like hers. Knows it's there, has to be there, what is it then, watching her, peeping at her, making her feel so insecure yet safe. She begins a mutter again, slinking across the floor on her hands and knees, purposely baring herself like a dog to nothing. A little wiggle like she has a tail and she is grinning again, black dilating and she lets out a useless moan, a tingle stretching through her tendons for a moment and it's nothing.

It's numb.

* * *

_**Everybody has a private world…**_

* * *

Sparks, spurs, tics and tocs. Leaps, slides, curves and slopes. Here, there, neither and or.

Back he is, staring down at her with that subdued look, hands tucked into his pockets. She smiles and sticks her tongue out, leaning back like she is on her hackles, raising her hands up in a begging posture and she begins to pant like the hound she is. He stared still, the black swallowing moss and he reaches out, patting her head. She cackles and falls backwards, arms thumping into the concrete and she begs, a howl sliding past battered and bruised lips, swollen from slight infection and abuse. Her body rolls, begging for it, but he just stares, hypnotized as she in a world of nothing. The instrument glistens as he pulls it from his pocket and she whimpers like a mutt, sliding back slightly until he screams bloody murder and drops to his knees, driving the damn thing into her ankle. She screams in utter agony, chest arching from the ground and it's nothing.

It's numb.

* * *

_**Where they can be alone…**_

* * *

Sparks, spurs, tics and tocs. Leaps, slides, curves and slopes. Here, there, neither and or.

A whimper slides through her lips again, body weak and quivering on the floor. The chill runs through her desperately, trying to claim her but a flutter of cloth lands on her and she jumps. Twisting this way and that she manages to wrap herself into a tight ball, the cloth covering every inch of her so she appears to be a sack. He stares, look still in place, and flicks his cigarette into the corner, waiting for the reaction he wants. He gets it sooner than expected. She darts out of the blanket, bare assets swaying as she does so and she scrambles for the butt, inhaling as much of it as she can before what happens next comes. She knows, and she had gotten faster, getting that taste of him, but he is always, always faster than she. She screams and kicks as he grabs a hold of her, twisting the cigarette in her hand to her neck and it's nothing.

It's numb.

* * *

_**Are you calling me…**_

* * *

Sparks, spurs, ticks and tocs. Leaps, slides, curves and slopes. Here, there, neither and or.

Not cerulean left, consumed by a black abyss. She mutters in the corner, pacing back and forth on her hands and knees every once in a while. Eyes fixated on the door, the open door, she knows it is a trick but what kind of trick is it? Will? Strength? Obedience? He is smart, smarter than she will ever be in this life time or the next. She eases forward a little, mutters never stopping. Her fingers ghost past the doorframe, her knees wobbly, and she retracts back, heart racing as she sees the shadow lingering across the molded tiles. She grins when the tiles glow faint red for a moment, smelling the nicotine flowing through perfect nostrils. Just a taste…all she wants is a taste of him. She had begged, and he refused, why she didn't know. She rests back on her hackles again, picking at the burnt scab on her neck and it's nothing.

It's numb.

* * *

_**Are you trying to get through…**_

* * *

Sparks, spurs, tics and tocs. Leaps, slides, curves and slopes. Here, there, neither and or.

Another whimper. God, how he hates those whimpers. She knows he does, that is what makes it all the more aggravating. Never a moments peace. He leans forward onto the desk, fingers tapping on either side of his skull, a sick, twisted grin marring a stitched face. Tick, tick, tick, tick, tick, tick, tick. In and out constantly, accompanied by a whimper and he is losing it. His long fingers curled through his hair, tugging painfully and winning a few strands. He sighs and then cackles lightly, running his hands down his face, nails digging in occasionally and catching onto the old stitches, tugging them downwards. His cackle gradually grows louder and then he is full blown laughing, leaning back in his chair before he twitches, the laughter stops and he abruptly slams his forehead onto the desk. Hard and it's nothing.

It's numb.

* * *

_**Are you reaching out for me…**_

* * *

Sparks, spurs, tics and tocs. Leaps, slides, curves and slopes. Here, there, neither and or.

The laughing amuses him, watching through the slit, seeing her clawing at her throat, leaving delicious trails of blood to pool and fill the hollow of her slender throat. He eases the door open, smokes flowing from her crooked nostrils but she doesn't stop laughing, doesn't stop clawing, she just looks at him like he's hungry. When he pauses above her she grins and slides a hand up, licking at the blood that it sticking between her middle and index finger. He reaches down, face placid, and he cups the back of her neck, blood dripping and making soft noise against the concrete. He leans close, examining the way most of it is congealed and black, wondering what is happening mostly, and then he leans even closer, his tongue snaking out and trailing up her throat, savoring the taste. She grunts and arches, bloody hands clenching at his pant legs and it's nothing.

It's numb.

_**Like I'm reaching out for you…**_

Sparks, spurs, tics and tocs. Leaps, slides, curves and slopes. Here, there, neither and or.

Panting mess, dilated abyss watching his every movement as he retrieves his scalpel, his movements methodical, practiced, normal. Her chest arches and she growls, wrists straining at the binds he keeps her to the table with. He peers over his shoulder, over the cartoonish glasses and a grin spreads across his face. The grin matches hers, and she laughs, eyes closing as she lets her head loll to the side, letting it all go. Madness, madness, madness, madness, madness, madness, madness. In and out, thoughts a zoomin, unknown to you, hilarious to some. She laughs again, but it is faint, weak, and his scalpel drops to the floor. He stares at it in loss, wandering what he had just been doing. He looks up in slight clarity, recognizing the fat candles lighting his surgical room and he turns to the hallway, sliding past her body without a second glance, never seeing it as he moves down the dark hallway, lost.

"Kikya?"


End file.
